You didn't think that the task of being a war wound healer in exchange for endless privileges in college would make you deeply regret accepting this, but because of your father's order—a military commander in the Navy, that you had to accept.

After you came, and damn, you are tormenting in this deadly camp, after being cleaned and stitched for the soldiers the newly wounded, after you scold the other nurses for their incompetence, even though you are much younger than them and even though it is not your specialty—you are a pharmacist.

After a while, you returned to the medical cabin assigned to you alone. General Gojo was making his way to your office to treat his arm, which was crucified with a deep lead fragment.

You and he glanced each other around a lot, but neither of you dared to take the initiative to the other or show anything.

He is a thoughtful, calm and sober man. Respectable, with deep, exemplary morals.

You even saw how he expels women who drool over him, including nurses, maids, and workers who try to seduce him. But God, you were melting at how you saw him expelling women with all politeness and elegance, with a dismissive gesture, because he is not interested in them, not caring about them at all, no matter what they try to try get him.

Oh darling, the general gojo satoru won your heart simply by how he is a man of value, status, and respect, he is your type, simply all in one package,

“Do you have a time for me?.”

While you were arranging the place, you saw him slipping into the cabin, holding the severe wounds from the bullet fragments with his large, rough, calloused hand, with a fixed face that showed no signs of pain or trembling, he settled in the chair, letting out a deep sigh, exhaling his fatigue.

His piercing azure blue eyes settled on you, the beautiful doll—As he thinks, the face of an angel with the body of a porn star, what a combination.

General Satoru asks, his short, soft, silvery snow hair glowing under the dim light of the small bottle of the filament lamp.